Purified
by Laikea
Summary: The story is not too long, read and find out.


As usual I ask you to please help me if you find any grammatical errors or unjoint sentences. This really doesn't have much point, I felt like writing and this is the final product.   
Yes I own them all:seaQuest and characters, this is the script for a future seaQuest episode which will be aired shortly worldwide.I promise I will keep the series going this time. coughcoughcoughNOTcoughcoughcough. Please R&R after you have finished reading this.  
Dedications: To Megs because she inspired me to write this with her endless love for the ocean. Thanks to Jennifer: who managed to beta this during her exams. Thank you!!  
Gone on for long enough now.  
  
  
  
  
The wind was surprisingly soothing that night; the clouds were led carelessly by it, following to wherever that soft breeze would guide them. Their dark margins majestically blended as the movement caused them to roll into each other, creating a magnificent sight for whoever was fortunate enough to view it. Someone was there, but his gaze was not turned up to the heavens, his dark blue eyes thoughtfully looked down upon the waves, which were dancing gracefully on the sandy beach, playing their usual chasing game among themselves.  
  
He gently leaned on a thick, wooden beam, supporting himself completely on that small part of the pier on which he stood. The pier was made up of old rotting planks, which could surprisingly still hold up his full 18-year-old weight. He looked down below his feet, where the water was flowing powerfully, the white foam curling artfully among the various ripples. It was like staring at a picture, a moving, inter-changeable picture, which could enchant anyone, Lucas Wolenczak included.  
  
He had always loved the ocean, the only place that truly resembled freedom for him, filling him with a sense of security and comfort at the thought of the salty liquid enveloping him in it's cold embrace. He was trying to imprint everything in his memory, the crispy smell of the air, the feel of the wood, the shining of the golden sand. It would be months before he would be allowed to see all these sights again.  
  
The next day marked the beginning of a new tour, another endless period of time prisoner in one of the greatest military vessels of all time. He dreaded it. He ached at the thought of being forced in a limited space, made to breathe oxygen stored in tanks and eat food that had been held in shelves for indefinite centuries. Not being able to escape the metallic hell that held him captive, torturing him with the only other option of a life alone on a continent with no family willing to support him. Either way, he had no choice, the day he had chosen to sign up for duty, had been the day he had tied chains around his wrists and ankles and had secured the other ends firmly to the seaQuest. If he had managed to cut loose now he would forever give up the respect and the love that he had worked so hard to earn. That was the magic of the sub-marine: It held a paradise and an inferno all in one, friends and enemies, defeats and successes. Life on it was a nightmare, life without it, simply didn't exist.  
  
His fingers ran along the surface of the pier, feeling the knots in the wood, the roughness of the amaturely lavorated trunk and the thin ventures, which seemed to flow throughout it. He jerked his arm back impetuously as a sharp pain was set off from the sensitive nerves beneath his skin. He struggled to make out what had caused this spasm. The weak light reflected from the moon hurried to his aid permitting him to visualize a small shard of wood embedded deep within his palm. A small rivulet of blood flowed from the wound traveling slowly into the lines that time had carved on the surface of his hand, filling them like water flooded river beds after a prolonged draught.  
  
His eyes left the damage done to his system, he closed his fist over the cut, oblivious to the pain that would have upset any other in his position. He had long passed the point of caring, any physical damage was futile in comparison to his emotional struggle. Cuts, fractures, blisters or splinters could all heal with a little time, an emotional abyss could keep you trapped for eternity.  
  
He walked away, leaping from the rotting wood of the pier just to land on the golden beach and sinking slightly as the minuscule grains shuffled under his weight. He headed towards the ocean, the waves rushing towards him, welcoming him to their world, opening to envelop his feet as he stepped into them. He sat down, ignoring the flapping of his wet clothes against his damp skin, ignoring the sting that erupted from his palm as the salty water disinfected the wound, ignored the uncomfortable roughness created by his shoes as his toes rubbed against the humid insides. The foam circled him forming a contour to his body, drawing his silhouette on the surface of the marine liquid. He looked up to the horizon, to the beams of the moon as it created a luminous shadow underneath it, a strip of water mirroring its radiance. Once again he became enchanted by the vision of such splendor and, once again, he became lost in his thoughts.  
  
****  
  
It took a few hours for the ensign to finally return to the world. The real world, not the imaginary one in which he seeked refuge in his moments of weakness. He knew he had to go back, leave the beach and return to the hotel where he knew the rest of the crew was resting in preparation of their imminent departure the next day. Still his mind couldn't bring himself to do it. His legs twitched ready to rise and walk away but the rest of him clutched to that place with all the force that he could build up. His fingers had buried themselves in the sand, as if grasping to it in the subconscious hope that if he held on hard enough he would be allowed to stay. Futile thoughts. He would have been submerged by the sea the next day, devoured, as the water would close in on him as it had done so many times before. Yet he loved it, he loved the cold liquid around him, comforting him in his imprisonment.  
  
A wave washed over him, stronger than the previous others. It left small droplets clinging to the tips of his hair, droplets that fell on his cheeks, droplets that strangely resembled tears. Surprisingly he felt fulfillment, relief. Just like a person feels at peace after their emotions have been let out through their eyes under the form of tears, he felt cleansed. He lifted his hand to his face; his cut could hardly be noticed anymore. The seawater had rinsed it, disinfected it and left it purified. It was preparing to cleanse his emotional being too, helping him in a way he never thought possible. It had accepted him, welcomed him into the blue world, showing him a different perspective to the one he had lived with the whole of his life. He rose to his feet and bearing a silent goodbye, he turned and left. He would stare down at his palm from time to time. A physical reminder of what was bound to happen to his internal pain. Healing. 


End file.
